The Orange Phantom
by VikMik222
Summary: After a long day, John goes out to get the normal list from the shops but comes back with something extra.


**This was a story I made from a challenge my dear friend (Anneh2793) gave story had to be inspired or include a picture: . **

**Plus, this is my first story and I most likely made some crucial grammar mistakes so some mercy would be nice! I hope everyone enjoys.  
**

**Notes:** *John and Sherlock are in the midst of their new relationship

* * *

It was one of those miserable evenings where the rain just clattered down everywhere. The roves shimmered while the water clattered and hammered harshly, mercilessly drenching every lamppost and every poor soul out at that time of night. Including an ill-fated ex-army doctor who's adventures for that evening had yet come to an end. The poor Doctor was drenched from head to toe, his thick coat zipped fully to his throat, a glossy blue plastic bag filled with milk and bread in one hand while the other hugged tightly to his damp clothing. Quietly his feet shuffled through every blasted puddle which paved his way back to Baker Street. Oh, he hated this time of night… it was too late to go out and too early to sleep. And the weather was just making things more miserable.

Little would John's flatmate realize that the man would not only return with that evenings shopping list.

A taxi quickly rumbled by as the man continued to hurry through London. With a small grunt, he pushed his way through the door after battling the lock with merely one hand and a slippery key. The doctor staggered into the hall and pushed back into the door way to let it slam shut- a significant sign of the man's arrival into 221 B Baker street. A sigh of relief echoed through the empty hall where the wallpaper was slightly outdated for its time. It was apparent that Mrs Hudson had already retired to her room from the slight muffles of her T.V. Usually it was time for her latest encounters with 'Haratio Kane' from CSI. Sherlock would be thrilled to listen to her latest discoveries of modern science from the American T.V. show.

Quietly the man plodded up the stairs one step at a time. The bag ruffled and drops of water continued to stain the dark carpeting. Without any more effort, the doctor eventually made it to the door- where… the occasional plucking of strings screeched and peeped behind the wooden door. Luckily they seemed bright- cheerful. A good sign and little chance of gun fire for the evening.

"Sherlock? I'm back." Came the first announcement. Only to be replied with a small plucking of a violin string and thoughtful grunt from the sofa. His flatmate, happily draped across the piece of furniture, was laying with the back of his head towards the doorway and kitchen, unable to see the state John Watson was in. "I brought back milk, bread and more patches."

"Two loaves to be precise. Mrs Hudson asked you to pick up a spare… And what about… that… In your coat?" Sherlock made sure to put a rather large emphasis on the word 'that'. Especially once John had placed down the wet carrier bag and was prepared to begin stripping from his heavy clothing. Half-way from releasing the zipper, he stopped and paused, frozen to his spot as though a gun was pointed to his throat.

"…" Not a word was spoken as a small thud of a wooden instrument was dropped to the ground.

"Put… it on… the table…" Sherlock commanded his voice low and slow. Almost in a threatening and yet teasing tone. Without much more thought, the dirty blonde turned and looked at the detective with such a look in his eyes- it was almost hurtful and yet hopeful at the same time.

"Sherlock- hear me out first-" The man began, placing one hand up defensively while the other slipped into the only dry patch of his clothing which was saved by a dirty yet soft blue cloth. "It was from the crime scene- Greg was going to shoo it off and let one of the police officers get rid of it. But come on- no one is that heartless are they?"

By this time, Sherlock had slunk off the sofa, dressed in the usually dark purple shirt and black slacks, accompanied by his favourite dressing gown and was padding towards the kitchen. "… John… Put it on the table…" He spoke once more, a slight look of curiosity and slight annoyance in his eyes.

With an indignant sigh, the package which was so dearly held against Watson's breast was finally revealed. The cloth, beheld to Sherlock and the table, contained a ruffling and writhing little ball of fluff. The thing wriggled and stretched, now finding more freedom from it's original confines. John carefully placed it down onto the table where the cloth moved and fell open like a ragged flower. A small kitten arose it's head as soon as it was free. It's large saucer-like eyes peering around, a small and curious 'mew' peeping from the minute lips. Carefully the creature padded around the blue cloth and cautiously clambered onto it's stubby legs to begin a slight wobbly first steps onto the table. It looked very young, merely a week old.

"You… can't be serious. You know Mrs Hudson won't allow a cat In here. Besides, I won't allow it." The taller of the two spoke, waving a thin hand above John's head while his sharp, eagle like eyes stared at the chubby kitten who seemed more curious to what delights scattered over the kitchen table; a jar of eyes, a bloody hand saw- all the delights a kitten at it's age would love to discover!

"And this coming from the man who keeps body parts in his fridge! It is only a cat- and for goodness sake man, we won't keep it if it's 'too much competition'." John replied, staring back at his companion with a small narrow of his eyes and returned a stubborn look Holmes was oh-too familiar with. "At least let it stay for one night and then… tomorrow we will take it to a RSPCA shelter or something. Please Sherlock- it had no mother, I looked and god knows what would have happened to it if Lestrade and the police were left to look after it."

"Maybe it would have been taken to a RSPCA centre?" Sherlock retorted, shrugging his shoulders with a teasing tone drawling from his lips. This only lead to a sharp and unamused glare from the doctor but lead to nothing more than a smirk as soon as his eyes turned back to the clumsy cat at hand.

While the two bickered, it had managed to waddle across the wooden table top. First it sniffed at the head, not bothered one bit and continued on, cautiously rubbing it's head against the macabre dotted everywhere. Eventually, it came to a dramatic halt as soon as it stepped out onto a balanced piece of cardboard, currently being used for fingerprints, and was about to topple off the edge of the table. With quick reflexes, John hurled himself across the table- catching the bundle of ginger fur without a second to loose.

The kitten mewed in delight as soon as it saw the familiar face of it's hero. "That was too close…" He muttered, pulling himself up only to give Sherlock another glare.

The detective merely shrugged his shoulders and sat down on one of the spare wooden chairs. "Fine- it can stay this evening. But you can feed it, groom it…. Walk it… whatever it will need. Perhaps it would be a good experiment- you know how much cat fur is found in the common crime scene!" He suddenly exclaimed with a excited glimmer. "I could always do with a willing test subject~"

"Come near this kitten with one of your weird experiments and I won't be afraid to show you my marksmanship first hand…"

"Come on John, it was only a joke."

"Then it wasn't funny." John had already grown used to the harsh humor and while being wet and with a kitten, John seemed to be in no mood for it. "I'm going to have a shower and then going to bed. I'm knackered."

"So you're going to take the kitten with you? It's a known fact they don't like water." Sherlock smirked, making sure to pick more at the frustrated doctor. All this lead to be another glare and a harsh slam of the door! Now, sitting by himself at the kitchen table, the detective stubbornly frowned and sighed loudly. Why would John even WANT a cat? It was un-ethical and wasted money on something they needed- even though, money wasn't important at the moment. Not when it was so easy to live off what they had- it was something they didn't need to worry about. A cat would merely cause more trouble, contaminate evidence, create too much of a distraction… why would John be so bothered about that thing? It could easily take care of it's self- it had the capacity to adapt quickly and easily. Cats were naturally good hunters. The kitten would learn fast…

The long fingers continued to tap on the surface with annoyed tempo. Just thinking about that creature made his blood boil. Why? With a snort, Sherlock removed himself from the table and slunk into the bedroom without another word. He dropped the dressing gown onto the floor and slid beneath the thick sheets.

Going to bed angry was never advised; even Sherlock wasn't one for sleeping. Of course, there was always a reason he would curl up beneath the sheets- for a multitude of reasons. This evening he was in the mood to release some stress and to do that was with the help of his partner. Sherlock was always too proud to let go of his tension by himself. Oh no~ John would do perfectly like oh so many other nights. Even with that- thing- he would get his way. John was easily swayed with the simple techniques of a master such as the detective.

Fifteen minutes later (fifteen minutes exact thanks to John's unnatural need for neatness from his army days) was when the doctor appeared from his shower- cat in one hand while drying his hair with a towel in the other. Immediately Sherlock was frowning as soon as he heard the gentle coos of the man's voice to the unnaturally sweet looking feline.

"You're not bringing that in here…?" Came the spiteful mutter from beneath the sheets. A small 'Mm Hm' was all that sounded in reply. Quietly, the kitten was placed on the thick sheets, quick and tiny paws so speedy to get to work in finding a good spot. The ginger cat bounced across the bed with a wobbly uncertainty in it's movements. It was eager, mewing happily at the frustrated detective- only to be moved with a swift yet gentle nudge over to the doctor's side of the bed.

Once John had settled down beside Sherlock, the detective was quick enough to greedily wrap his long, thin arms around the man's waist. Not once did Watson go to protest, nor bothered. It was a habit he was used to and a habit he secretly did not wish to break. All he did was sigh in return and closed his eyes.

But soon enough, he opened one of the deep emerald orbs and stared over his shoulder. "Sherlock… I'm tired… not tonight." He mumbled sleepily, only to wince as soon as the man's hands began to stroke and grope. "Sherlock…" This time he breathed the name deeper, but more sternly. "Hmn.."

A small and triumphant smirk curled onto Holmes' lips, only to pucker them softly and eagerly kiss at the back of the man's neck. He knew every spot; ever strategic kiss pressed in all the right places~ He knew exactly what John liked and he knew how to make him feel as though he was floating on air. And he planned on making him feel that way right now. He hummed brightly as soon as the first shiver washed down John's back. He could feel every movement, every writhe and twitch. It was like playing with a beautiful instrument.

Within seconds he would have John in a puddle of moans- with just a few more tactful movements, he would have him wanting more~ Already Sherlock's long, thin fingers had found the hem of the army doctor's boxers and were so hungrily wanting to slip them down those smooth hips-

"Wait- Sherlock!" John suddenly snapped, nudging the eager detective in the ribs. Sherlock merely gave a feral grunt in return and just dove his face into the deep crook of John's neck. The doctor grumbled and wriggled, unable to slip from the man's grasp- which continued to playfully hold him tight to the slightly taller form. But this moment of desperate activities came to a sudden halt- especially as Holmes found himself frozen as the small cat had found comfort sitting on his shoulder and watching the two men with a look of sheer amazement. "… I tried to tell you…" John finally sighed aloud. Well- for once, he had seen the great Sherlock was quiet. He stared, looking at the content cat with a look of annoyance.

For a few seconds he just stared at the cat, both of them staring each other like some deadly show down… For a second, it almost looked as though they were trying to stare each other down! The kitten stared, unblinking, not giving up. It actually looked rather adorable- and yet creepy. To see Sherlock finding someone with the same stubbornness as him.

Another minute passed and it seemed the kitten had won- at least, that was what John had thought. "Give me one second…" Sherlock muttered. The man shuffled, a hand quick to grasp the curious cat and lift it by the scruff of it's neck.

"Sherlock!"

"Don't worry! I'm not going to do anything bad to it… I'm merely showing it's place…" The man grumbled, seeing that the kitten wouldn't let him give him a moment's peace… then he would go and place it somewhere where it can't bother them! In a trap so devilishly simple that even Moriarty couldn't get out of it! Quickly the man disappeared from the bedroom, kitten in hand and a plan lingering in the back of that tactful mind.

Quietly, the man padded out into the living room and walked around the chairs and table to find a small box- it was a Chinese box, rather big and full of papers that Sherlock once used for a case back in his earlier years. He opened it, tipped out the contents onto the floor and placed the kitten inside. The box was decorated with beautiful golden leaves with spaces between each beautifully crafted detail that air was easily able to flow into the mahogany container. The man shoved the blue cloth inside and plopped the kitten inside so that it had SOME sort of comfort. A small and curious 'meow' followed once the cat was placed inside. With a small and triumphant grin, Sherlock closed the box and locked it with a simple twist and turn of an ancient seal. Then, after placing the box down, he returned to the bedroom triumphant, happily curling back with his lover.

"Now~ where were we?" He cooed darkly against the shell of John's ear.

Mere minutes passed as the two continued to enjoy each others company. For days they had been apart, Sherlock too busy with his case and John too tired from following the childish but hungry detective. And now, able to finally rest in one anothers arms. The room was quiet. John laid there, head nestled beneath Sherlock's chin while the detective's hands were folded behind Watson's back. A satisfied smile happily curled on his lips. At least he was able to take a few seconds off of his John's mind about that... Cat...

Yet in the warmth of the room, a gentle patter soon echoed from the cracked door way.

*pat, pat, pat- thump* *pat, pat, pat- thump*

Both suddenly opened their eyes and stared blankly into the dark.

*pat, pat, pat- thump*

"What the-" Before the doctor could finish, both sets of eyes turned to the edge of the bed; two tiny claws grabbing onto the sheets with desperation. To the detective's horror, there, clawing it's way up the sheets, with the same... Tiny kitten... Climbing up the bed. But with a victorious mew, it finally clambered over to the shocked Sherlock and the smiling doctor. "Looks like your little plan didn't work." John smirked as he welcomed the cat with open arms.

Yet Sherlock continued to show his shock by merely staring at it blankly. How could a simple kitten get out of something like THAT? The kitten purred warmly and clambered on top of Watson and began to happily paw at his covered stomach.

"That little evil genius..." Sherlock breathed in annoyance. "How... But..."

"Not such a simple kitten eh?" John spoke smugly, scratching the cat's chin. "Shame you wont be able to see how this kitten could 'baffle the great detective of baker street'. Especially after we take it to the shelter."

"ARE YOU MAD JOHN? That cat is going no where! How could you think of taking it to the RSPCA? It needs to be studied! Maybe trained! We have a better trained animal then Lestrade! I think we should call him Houidini? Maybe Beethoven?" And as soon as Sherlock had made up his mind, the cat was made to stay. Little would John let him know how happy and how he anticipated the little stunt. For once, he was happy to know he finally got his way with something.

As Sherlock continued his long few minutes of rambling, John smiled gently and closed his eyes, one hand lazily stroking the now slumbering kitten. Without the detective realizing, both kitten and John had fallen asleep. "And then- we could even train it to distract or carry messages- do you know how much potential this cat has?" Sherlock smirked, turning to John, eyes blazing in excitement. "..." But, before he could get an answer, realization set in. He sat in the bed and stared for a few moments before a small smile curled onto the thin lips. Well... At least he wouldn't tell his partner... He looked oddly adorable with a kitten... Well, a little more adorable then normal.

With a final sigh, he laid down beside his dear old friend. He rested his head on a pillow and wrapped one arm around the mans shoulders, only to nuzzle into the smooth cheek. "... Good night John... Good night Houdini..."


End file.
